The Myth of You and Me
by ShelbyGT1987
Summary: A girl so beautiful the Goddess of Beauty became jealous. A boy sent by his mother to sabotage her, only to find that the God of Love has fallen in love himself.
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer, and Greek/Roman Mythology belongs to no one_

**This story has been festering in my mind for ages now, so I've decided to try it out. Inspired by Greek/Roman mythology (obviously), _The Polar Bear King _(1991),and there's a little _A Countess Below Stairs _action in the very beginning.**

**FULL SUMMARY: **Bella was a princess of such sweetness and beauty, the Goddess of Beauty became jealous. She instructed her son, Edward, to destroy the mortal by making her fall in love with the most hideous man on Earth. But, to her fury, the God of Love falls in love himself, and a race against time begins: Bella must gain her husband's forgiveness and stop her insanely jealous mother-in-law from destroying her life before she loses everything - especially her unborn child.

* * *

_In my daughter's eyes, everyone is equal  
__Darkness turns to light, and the world is at peace  
__This miracle God gave to me  
__Gives me strength when I am weak  
__I find reason to believe  
__In my daughter's eyes_

_In my daughter's eyes, I can see the future  
A reflection of who I am and what will be  
And though she'll grow and someday leave  
Maybe raise a family  
When I'm gone, I hope you'll see  
How happy she made me  
For I'll be there  
In my daughter's eyes_

"In My Daughter's Eyes," Martine McBride

* * *

1. The Beginning

**Governess Sue's POV**

Before the failed "revolution" that had really been a mere upstart skirmish in my hometown, I had never seen such a beautiful place as I now inhabited. Born and raised in Greece, I had heard legends and stories about the lands farther north—so far, in fact, one could bury themselves in snow merely by stepping out of there houses—but I'd never believed it. Who could buy into such extravagant tales? But now I knew they were all true.

In this fabled, glittering land known simply as "the Winterland," there lived, in an ice-blue palace overlooking a nearly-frozen river, a family on whom the gods seemed to have lavished their gifts with an almost hateful abundance.

King Charles and his Queen Renee possessed—in addition to the twenty-roomed palace they inhabited usually, with its gold under glass in the library, its ballroom illuminated by a hundred crystal chandeliers—an estate in Greece, another in Rome, and a summer home on the island of Crete which the Queen, not being of an inquiring mind, had never even seen. His wife could count among her jewels a diamond and sapphire pendant which had been paid for by nearly half the kingdom, and though she _might_ have been able to put on her own clothes, she had never been called upon to do so in her life.

The King and Queen were unsuccessful in bearing sons, but they did have two beautiful daughters. The Queen was with child again, and everyone prayed for a boy, although it was common in this land to allow a woman to inherit the throne.

The Princess Jessica was the oldest, and most closely resembled the King. She had inherited his black, curly hair and bright blue eyes. She was ten years old now, and had her own governess to care for her, my companion in arms, Governess Alexis, who was like our domestic queen herself. She ruled the rest of us governesses.

The Princess Lauren was, at this time, the youngest child, and was a strange hybrid of her two parents. She had her father's black hair and her mother's deep, sparkling brown eyes, but her hair was straight like her mother's, her chin far to pronounced to be feminine, and she had the cold calculating mind of her grandfather, the king before ours. Everyone believed that if she were not given the crown outright, she would find someway to take if from her sister for herself when she came of age. As of now, she was merely a bothersome child of six, and I was glad she was not my responsibility, but that of Governess Melissa.

My charge would be the next child, whether it was boy or girl. I didn't try to convince myself that it didn't matter to me what the sex of the child was. While I hoped for the guaranteed peace of succession that would come from the Queen bearing a boy, I wanted to be the 'foster mother' of a girl. I had two grown children of my own, one of which was a girl, but she had always been more interested in her father than I. I had been ill after bearing her for too long, and she became more attached to her own nanny than I. I hoped for a second chance with the Queen's child.

The day finally dawned when the Queen's labor pains began. Though I was anything but a midwife, I was asked to accompany her into the birthing room, if nothing else to ensure the safety and care of the child once it was born.

It was excruciating. The Queen's pregnancy had been rather placid and uneventful, unlike her previous ones, but this birth was most difficult by far. Everyone knew she had been warned by her doctors not to have anymore children. Her two previous births and her five miscarriages/stillbirths weighed heavily on her body, and it was doubtful she would survive another successful delivery.

Nurses, midwives, doctors - everyone who knew anything about birthing a baby was summoned and given the acerbic instruction "save who you can." They fluttered around the room like chickens with their heads cut off, while I tried to stay out of the way and discreet in a dark corner.

The labor dragged on for hours, even into the night. There was no sign of a baby. Nothing but blood and sweat and screams of agony were produced from the Queen.

"I'll feel her stomach for the heartbeat of the child," one old doctor sighed wearily. "If there is one, we'll have to do a Cesarean section."

There were cries of horror and shock from the others, ones who knew what that meant. I had never heard of such a procedure. I'd been present at some births, yes, but they had all been normal and successful or tragic for one or both parties.

"But, sir, that could kill her!"

The doctor sighed again, passing a hand over his eyes. "It most likely will," he said sadly, his eyes tired. He leaned over, cupping the face of the Queen, whose eyes were currently screwed tight shut as she focused on breathing more calmly. "My lady," he asked gently, "as you can see, this is not going well—"

The Queen didn't even wait for his sentence to finish. "Save my baby!" she commanded, and though it was breathless, her voice still held her regal command.

"Your Majesty, the only method we have left to save the child could possibly—"

"Save my baby!"

"Majesty, you could die!" the old man said, not harshly, but losing his patience. "Are you prepared for that, for this infant that might not even be alive?"

"It is, I feel it," the Queen whispered, her face going white as one of the nurses pressed on her abdomen.

"I feel a heartbeat," the girl confirmed grimly, "but it's faint, and very slow."

"Save my baby!"

Six hours later, the Queen Renee died to the indignant cries of her newborn daughter.

The baby, so much smaller than normal girls at birth, was given to me almost immediately. The deceased Queen was priority one in that moment. She had to be cleaned up and prepared for her funeral service, and the King had to be informed.

Even while his heart seemed to break, the King did not blame the tiny girl in my arms as some of us, myself included, had expected. Most ignorant fathers did. But on the contrary, he asked to see her as soon as possible. In the event of the Queen's death, I was given the task of cleaning the baby off, and finding a proper nurse maid for her. I had no mother's milk of my own.

Once the baby was sufficiently presentable and fed, I hurried down the halls of the palace towards the room the King and his other daughters waited in, other servants and lords living in our castle rushing to and fro, frenzied in light of the monarch's death.

"Ah," the King said when I pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped inside, cradling his new infant. He stood from his desk, gently pushing his other girls off his legs as he made his way over to me. His eyes were rimmed red, and I knew he had been weeping, but I felt a surge of pride and affection for the King, who still loved and wished to see his newest daughter.

I looked down at the girl and recoiled, shocked. Newborns, especially those as malnourished and recently traumatized as this one, should sleep for hours after their birth—yet this little girl, bundled so tightly in her blanket that she couldn't move except to rock like a worm, was wide awake. She had opened her misty grey-blue eyes and _looked_ at the King.

I tried to take this as a good omen, that the child would become smart and blessedly wise, and gave thanks to the gods for such a gift. Still, it was unnerving.

The King, however, chuckled and took the girl into his own arms, cradling her awkwardly, albeit affectionately, against his chest. "She'll look like her mother," he avowed, and in that instant I realized why he hadn't blamed the girl for the death of her mother. He was hoping she would replace her. Not in a romantic or impure way, but so that he wouldn't feel his wife's loss so keenly.

Looking down at the girl, who had now taken in upon herself to yawn as widely as she could, seeming to make a game of it, I smiled. Who could blame the man? This girl would be loved and cherished like none other in the kingdom.

As I had predicted, the years flew past, and the tiny, brown-haired little princess, christened Isabella Marie, was the true treasure of the kingdom. On this button-sized princess, with her thick, straight brown hair and her look of being about to devour life in all its glory, her adoring father showered diminutives: "Baby Girl," of course, "_korasion,_" but, more often, "_meli_," or "honey," paying tribute to the child's inherent sweetness.

Like most members of nobility, the Royal family was cultured, cosmopolitan, and multilingual. The King and Queen had spoken only Latin to each other. Greek was for servants, children, and the act of love. English and German they used only when it was unavoidable.

Almost immediately, my wish for the girl was granted. Inexplicably, Princess Isabella Marie—our Bella—chose to worship me as the mother she never knew. Doing so, she uncomplainingly endured that act all rich children of the "Winterland" had to withstand: the afternoon walk.

Sometimes the snow would come down so hard during these walks that I would have to forcibly steer the tiny, fur-trussed princess, her little body was rigid in her three layers of cashmere, padded swansdown lining, and fitted sable coat.

During these frigid walks, Bella would meet other children who shared her exalted martyrdom: pint-sized counts and countesses, muffled bankers' daughters clinging like moss to the granite boulders that were their governesses. Her older sisters, for example, their faces pale with impending frostbite and outraged 'adulthood' as they trudged behind their intrepid governesses.

Bella grew, and nothing was too good for her. When she was seven, her father gave her, on her birthday, a white and golden boat with a tasseled crimson canopy in which four oarsmen rowed her on picnics to the island. Each Christmas, one of the famous porcelain craftsmen of the 'yellow lands' fashioned for her an exquisite beast so small she could palm it in her muff: a springing leopard of lapis lazuli, a jade gazelle with shining ruby eyes... To draw her sledge through the snow, the King conjured up two silken-haired Siberian yaks.

That had been the final straw for me.

"You spoil her," I worried to the King, watching the tiny princess absolutely shriek with joy as she let her yaks pull her to and fro.

"I may spoil her," she tall, black-haired King would reply, with a most annoying knowing smirk, "but is she spoiled?"

And the truly bizarre thing was that Bella wasn't. The little girl—wobbling on a pile of cushions on the adult-sized desk so that she might clumsily practice her letters—obediently learning to dance with her sisters—demurely beginning to enchant beholders with her music of the _aulos_, and lyre—showed no sign whatsoever of selfishness or pride, as her elder sisters did. It was as though my cosseting, the fussing of the servants, and her father's limitless adoration produced in her only a kind of surprised humility.

Even as I watched her acutely throughout her growing years, I had to admit myself defeated. If ever there was such a thing as _natural goodness_, it existed in this completely modest, innocently sweet child.

As she moved from the idyll of her childhood into adolescence, Bella only grew more beautiful, and more kind. And, just as the King had foretold, she looked astonishingly like her mother. The wisps of brown hair that had covered Bella's head in early childhood had become a waist-length mantle, its rich darkness shot through like watered silk with chestnut and bronze. Her impossibly large, innocent eyes were the same sparkling chocolate brown eyes of her mother.

When a village rather far from the palace had been attacked by a group of jealous, downtrodden people from neighboring land, Bella organized soup kitchens and summoned doctors and nurses at her own expense. Though she was too young to enroll officially as a nurse, she spent each day in that village, rolling bandages and making dressings. She cared for the surviving children while their parents healed in the makeshift "hospitals,"—and begged her father to adopt the orphans, which he had no choice but to decline.

Furious at the injustice in the "poor little ones'" lives, Bella cajoled and pleaded with her father to make an instutition for the orphans—an "orphanage." There, they would be cared for by nurses and midwives who usually banded together anyway, and could be adopted by families unable to have their own children. Her building was created, and it was named _Vita Bella_, or "Beautiful Life," in honor of its founder.

If anything came out of the solitary building, it was more love and adoration for the princess. I couldn't have been prouder, and I knew her father was just as pleased with her, if completely unsurprised. He claimed she was exactly like her mother, how else should she behave?

When she reached her sixteenth birthday, men began to flock to our distant kingdom to ask for her hand, following those of our own that had been after her for years already. Bella never saw any of them herself. She was protected like the crown jewel itself, and all suitors were taken directly to her father, where they were promptly turned away. Only the best would be good enough for her, he proclaimed.

Needless to say, Bella's older sisters, I'd noticed, were insanely jealous. They had been ever since Bella was born. Now aged twenty-two and tweny-six, Jessica and Lauren had been married for several years hence, and both had borne at least one child—Lauren had but one boy, Jessica had two girls. They had been given away to the first "suitable" suitor that had come calling. There had been none of the anticipation, selectiveness, and priority that Bella had unknowingly received her whole life.

The King's reluctance to marry off his youngest, last, and favorite child only increased the mens' fervor. Some came wishing for Bella to marry their sons, others themselves, and some yet wished Bella to marry them even though they were already married! These scoundrels said they were willing to divorce for Bella, but of course those were dismissed without second thought. How could anyone dare suggest Bella's soul be sacrificed in such an unholy union?

The suitors, realizing their King wouldn't acquiece without "divine intervention" began to pray to the gods for the love of the princess. When this exploit failed, they stopped praying altogether.

Though the King and I knew that nothing good could come from provoking the goddess Rosalie's wrath by not paying her due homage, nothing was changed. The King still refused to give away his daughter, and the men still refused to pray. They claimed they had "given up" on such a fickle goddess, and began praying to Bella instead.

Bella was horrified by this. I had instilled in her a devout faithfulness to our twelve gods of Mount Olympus, and the lesser gods and heroes beneath them. To her, this sacrilege was intentional vengeance. She believed they were purposefully trying to invoke Rosalie's wicked temper by challenging her domain.

But, contrary to what we all dreaded—in the elder princesses' cases, _anticipated—_nothing happened. Bella was not struck dead by lightning from Rosalie's father, the King of Gods, Carlisle. She was not made to fall in love with a monster. Her virtue wasn't compromised in the least. Where had the faithfully tempermental goddess gone to so that she might not be aware of what was happening here?

That was when I realized: literally _nothing_ was happening for Bella in a remotely romantic or sexual way. Her suitors ceased to pray or even pay calls to her palace. For months there were no proposals of marriage. While the men of the kingdom, and others far away, still admired Bella's beauty and kindness without censorship on their mouths, none came forward to ask for her hand.

I could only stand so much of this. Despite pleas of passiveness from Bella, I traveled far away from her kingdom, back to my homeland, so that I might speak to an oracle. Her answer was shocking.

_Isabella will never marry a mortal. She shall be given to one who waits for her on yonder mountain; he overcomes gods and men._

Our beloved princess, my darling girl, was to be given to a _monster_? Even as the truth of the words haunted me as I made my weary way back to her frozen palace, the significance of such a life sentence didn't strike me until Bella was told - when her face drained of color and she fainted without a word.


	2. Awake

_Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer and Greek/Roman mythology belongs to no one_

**I took some lines here from _Midnight Sun_ that I absolutely loved.**

* * *

_I'm awake, I'm alive  
Now I know what I believe inside  
Now, it's my time  
I'll do what I want, 'cause this is my life  
Right here, right now  
Stand my ground and never back down  
I know what I believe inside  
I'm awake and I'm alive_

"Awake and Alive," Skillet

* * *

2. Awake

**Edward's POV**

_Ridiculous._

I scoffed, leaning back for a more comfortable position on the window seat in my mother's sitting room. She and all her maids were running about like ninnies, absolutely deranged. Rosalie, my mother—I never called any of my family by their titles, only their names—was in one of her tempers again. Apparently, there was a mortal on Earth that could rival her in beauty now, and, as per usual, she felt insanely threatened.

"And that—that _hussy_ has the nerve to act like a saint?!" she was screeching, her servants fluttering around her, helpless and frightened.

She continued on her little spiel, but I tuned her out, opting instead to go visit with the wiser men and women of our home. Gods and goddesses were revered for their contributions to mortals and the earth, but we had our vices, too—most often, it appeared as vanity or infidelity. Mine seemed to be disinterest. I was bored out of my mind running errands for Rosalie, making people fall in love with whoever she commanded. At least it didn't bother me that she got the credit for it—the people falling in love, that is.

Emmett, my father, wasn't actually a god. He was a mortal that had been given ambrosia, a drink from the gods' table that turned one immortal. He was quite possibly my favorite companion on this idiotic rock we called home, "Mount Olympus."

I found him in the kitchens—big surprise—trying to cajole one of the younger maids into making him something to eat.

"Aren't you supposed to be somewhere right now?" I asked, joining him at the plain oak table.

He looked at me, honestly perplexed. "Not that I know of. Should I?"

I rolled my eyes. "Your wife might just blow the top of this whole mountain off—with her voice alone. My ears are still ringing from her shrieks."

He laughed. I never understood his patience with Rosalie, but all her tempers and vanity only seemed to amuse him. She got on my nerves like no other, mother or not.

"What's offended her pride this time?"

I shrugged, taking a roll out of a basket that the maid offered us. Emmett shrugged her off, waiting for something better. Picky ass. "Some mortal girl, apparently. It's being given about that she's 'more beautiful than Rosalie' and we all know how kindly Mommy dearest took to that."

"And is she?" he prodded. I raised an eyebrow at him skeptically.

"Do you have a death wish?" I asked.

He chuckled, ruffling my hair. I leaned away, making a face. I hated being the youngest of all the gods, everyone took advantage of it.

"No, I just want to know so I can honestly reassure my wife that she is and always will be the most beautiful creature on the planet."

"Better make it 'in the universe,' this time," I advised, taking a huge bite out of the roll. It was hard as stone. Wrinkling my nose, I put it back down on the table. I wasn't that hungry, anyway.

"Is she _that_ upset?" He sighed. "So what of this girl?"

"I don't know. I don't exactly make it my business to spy on vanity competitors."

"Might as well, _lover boy._"

"Fuck off."

"I think I just might do that, thanks, Edward," he laughed, getting up. "I think it's time to pay a visit to my lovely, kind, sweet, attentive wife."

I didn't even look at him, just snorted to make my opinion known. He punched my arm on his way out, not enough to hurt me, but enough to show that he might be in a sparring mood later, which was always a good thing.

And now I had nothing to do. My grandfather, Carlisle, whom I sometimes enjoyed talking to, was away with his wife Esme doing something I was sure I didn't want to know about. Jasper, my mother's twin brother, was also entertaining and nice to visit, but he was off 'scouring the Earth' for something suitable for his wife on their anniversary, which was coming up shortly. Even Alice, the weird girl that I somehow connected with the easiest, my uncle's wife, was out hunting for entertainment.

I was alone, and bored out of my mind.

I could hear people praying to me, one of the bad things of being a deity. In your mind, you could always hear anyone who used your name as a prayer or hope. It got very annoying. Most of the time, I just tuned them out, but more recently almost all prayers coming my way were asking for the love of the very girl my mother was throwing a tantrum about.

Well, since I had nothing better to do, it couldn't hurt to see what all the fuss was about.

It took only a few hours, but I finally reached the girl's home—and why anyone would live in this frozen arctic wasteland willing was beyond me. There was no plant life anywhere except leaf-less, pitiful trees. No one could see what the houses were actually built of, because they all were almost completely buried under snow, the doors and windows the only things cleared out like igloos.

In the very center of this dead kingdom, there was an enormous, ice-blue palace. It wasn't really all that large on its own, especially up against the two I inhabited, but compared to the snow-covered huts around me, it was the most extravagant beautiful thing to be seen.

I made myself invisible and just strolled into the palace, through doors that were already open of course. It took a while, considering there were so many people bustling about and gossiping in the place, but eventually I learned that the girl who had unknowingly challenged my mother was actually not an only child. There were two other princesses living here, but no one seemed very interested in them. All thoughts and conversations revolved around the "Baby Princess" who really was almost seventeen years old.

I stuck around for a few extra minutes, trying to hear where the 'threat' might be, but all I could make out was talk of some village, rather far off, that had recently been ambushed. Would they really allow their precious princess to go into a territory that had just attacked? What if the intruders returned? Were these frigid northerners really that dense?

Holding my rather antagonistic thoughts to myself, I followed a cart that was being pulled by a scraggly pair of oxen to said village. If the princess was there, they'd lead me right to her, right? And if not, what did it matter? Rosalie would probably get one of the others to kill the girl anyway.

The cart rounded a corner around the side of the rather steep snow-covered mountainside and for a moment, I couldn't see them anymore.

I checked my invisibility one last time, even though I was sure it was still flawless, and followed them.

The village was completely destroyed. The charred remains of house frames hung limply, blackened and crispy. Some bodies were the on the ground under sheets while others prepared to take them off to cremate and/or bury them. There were dirty, windblown children huddled off to one corner, crowding around a young woman that could only have been the princess everyone was going on about. I could see why Rosalie was angry: the girl _was_ beautiful, but not my usual type.

I ducked behind the blackened remains of a stone fireplace to watch her from a closer perspective. I didn't feel shameful or awkward doing it, either. It wasn't like I was watching her for my own entertainment. Technically, I was scoping out the competition for my mother, though I'd rather die than help her slay a girl so pure as this one.

That was the only word I could think of to describe her: pure. She didn't act like other girls her age would, trying to get male attention by playing on their weaknesses. Most girls would have only tended to those children to catch the mens' eyes, but she seemed completely consumed by the young ones themselves.

She took up the hands of two of the littlest children, speaking to the others in a quiet voice that I couldn't make out from my distance, and turned to walk away. Of course, the children followed her as she had apparently asked them, and they went to some little field on the other side of a hill. I followed, unable to resist—absolutely loathing the snow that was making me wish I had no arms and legs for it to numb.

She played there with the children for a few hours until every body in the decimated village had been taken away and all the destroyed buildings cleared up, and then they went their separate ways. The children, much to the princess' dislike, were divided up among the men and women who had come to help, most of whom grumbled at this sudden turn of events.

The girl turned to her own sledge and—_well_, wasn't she the spoiled little princess? Everyone else had run-of-the-mill oxen toting them, but this spoiled thing had a pair of beautiful yaks that could only have cost her father an arm and a leg.

She rushed back to her palace so fast I had to nearly fly to keep up with her, and she didn't even stop to put her animals properly away. She handed them off to an attendant and stormed into her home, me at her heels though no one could see me, and went straight to her father's office.

He was busily leaning over paperwork of some kind, frowning in thought, but when he saw his favorite daughter, his face lit up like a sunrise. Why did everyone love this girl so much? She was beautiful, yes, and everyone knew that people loved beautiful children more, but never to this extent.

"What it is, Bella?" he asked comfortably, leaning back in his chair. He smiled at her, but frowned in confusion when she didn't return it. Apparently, she was usually quite chipper, although today I had only seen her as saddened, morose, and serious.

And talk about vanity! They'd named her _Bella_? Did they have to rub it in Rosalie's face that she was beautiful?

"Will you do something for me?" she asked, not beating around the bush at all.

His frown deepened. "If it's within my power, you know I will," he promised warily.

"Will you adopt all those little ones that were orphaned in the village ambush?"

The King, who had been about to take a drink of his hot tea, choked a little in surprise, his eyes bulging, and stuttered, "W-What?"

The girl either didn't notice or didn't care that he was reluctant to talk about this. It was obvious the answer would be 'no.' What man in his right mind would take in so many children, anyway, even if he was a king that wouldn't be subjected to them constantly?

She sat down in a chair across from her father's desk and eyed him squarely, her impossibly wide eyes both pleading and... compromising? Did she really think she had a fair chance here? I could have laughed at her presumptuousness.

"You won't even know they're here, Father," she promised. "I'll watch over them—Governess will help me. They won't be a burden, I swear."

He gestured helplessly, his face a mask of shock and speechlessness. "Where is this _coming_ from?"

She looked down, her cheeks tinting a light pink. I frowned, wondering what she had to be embarrassed about. She'd only done kind things today. Then again, whatever the reason behind it, I decided I liked her blush. It was very becoming against her pale skin.

"When I was in the village today, I left the nurses early," she admitted. "I wasn't helping them much anyway, all I can do there is roll bandages and such. So I went outside to play with the children that had been living there under the attack. Father, they're all so sweet and tiny and helpless—how could I let them go into homes where they won't be taken care of because of something they couldn't help? They're already in enough pain, most of them lost their parents."

"Bella..."

They argued for another few minutes while "Bella" lost terribly. Eventually, she conceded defeat, but came right out with another idea.

"All right, all right," she said, cutting off his long-winded argument about how it was "too expensive" to care for so many children and such. "If you won't take them in here, let me use my own allowance to have an institution built for them."

What kind of girl got an 'allowance' that huge?

"What kind of 'institution'?" her father asked suspiciously.

"An... orphanage," she said, pulling that name out of thin air, I was sure. "Orphans will be taken there to live with the nurses and midwives—they already band together, Father, why not let them live in one place with children that need them? And then families can visit them there if they can't have babies of their own, and adopt a child from there."

"That's a kind and thoughtful _idea_, Bella," the King hedged, "but some people would take advantage of such a place. They'd drop their children off there simply because they hadn't wanted them. It would be like an alternative birth control to them."

Bella stared at him, uncaring. "All's the better, then," she decided after a brief pause. "If those parents hadn't wanted their child and were forced to keep it, the baby would have been unhappy and most likely abused regardless. _Please_, Father, let me do this, at least."

The King sighed, and I couldn't stop my triumphant smile. For some unknown reason, I was beyond pleased that the girl had gotten what she wanted. Well, I defended myself, it was a good idea. Why _shouldn't_ I have been happy it came to fruition?

_Vita Bella_ was constructed a few months later, and it was the finest home for children ever known. It was funded by Bella herself, and, when her 'allowance' failed her, it was supported by the King. The meals were all very fine, the children slept in beds—which was more than most of the kingdom could say—and they were given an education. Mind, it wasn't exactly a top-notch education the likes of which the princesses had likely received, but it would no doubt assist them in later life.

The people absolutely worshipped Bella for this, and I was running out of excuses for why I was so proud of her. I kept attributing it to the fact that she wasn't becoming stuck up or conceited because of all this extra attention. If anything, it was embarrassing her. How many people could claim to be so sweet and innocent?

But, in the end, this worked against her, and in ways she couldn't have predicted. The number of men that sought to make her their bride had tripled at least, and they had stopped praying to my mother for the princess' favor. Some had even taken to praying to Bella, choosing her as their Goddess of Beauty instead.

Needless to say, Mommy Rosalie was mighty pissed off at this turn of events. She summoned a meeting of the gods one day to tell me so herself, and commanded that I once again do her bidding—this time on Bella herself.

The thought of Bella being with anyone else, let alone the most hideous man on earth as Rosalie intended, was enough to make me see red with anger, and I didn't know why. I barely knew this girl, except that she was incredibly kind and gentle and beautiful. But was it really her fault that other men had begun to see her as something ethereal and holy?

"I don't want to hear it, Edward," she cut me off as I tried to defend the girl. "Just strike her with one of your arrows and make her fall in love with a hideous beast. That will take care of her and any other beautiful descendants she might have had."

"Rose—" Emmett began, trying to calm her down and failing utterly; she cut him off with a single icy glare.

"Rosalie, you can't do this to her," I said desperately. "_I_ _won't_ do this to her. She doesn't deserve it. It's not her fault men view her as something godly. It's not even her fault she's beautiful—she certainly doesn't do anything to enhance her looks like others do."

That was hitting a bit below the belt, but I couldn't care. Rosalie had mended her appearance long ago so that she was the most beautiful woman on this planet, and every time she felt threatened, she had others make spells for her so that she might feel younger and more beautiful. Bella had never so much as washed her face with goat's milk, as the mortal women of her time were doing these days, believing it made one's skin softer and whiter.

"Why are you defending her, Edward?!" Rosalie retorted. "Show loyalty to your flesh and blood, not to some two-bit _whore_!"

I lost control a bit at that point. I was ready to kill her when she said that and had to be forcibly restrained by Emmett. How dare she call Bella a whore?! Who was the one wearing a girdle to make any man she desired fall in love with her on sight?

"Isn't it obvious?" Alice asked, her voice almost bored as she plucked at her food. She put her elbow on the table and leaned into her palm, glancing around the table to all of us as skeptically as though she couldn't believe we were so dense. "He's in love with the girl."

"What?" Emmett asked, startled. He threw back his dark head and boomed a laugh. "Is _that_ what's been going on?"

"In love?" Esme repeated, her voice somewhere between shocked, ecstatic, and confused. "With that girl Rosalie's been going on about? But—how—?"

"No!" I hadn't even realized the cry had come from me until I saw their shocked faces staring at me. "You're wrong, Alice. I _control_ love, and I certainly didn't make myself fall for this mortal."

"You're not infallible, Edward," Carlisle said slowly, and it took me by utter shock that he sounded close to laughter. "Sometimes love just... sneaks up on a person."

"Ridiculous!"

I had to get away from this, away from their sickeningly emotional faces—Rosalie's disgust and injustice, Emmett's amusement, Carlisle's patience...

Worse than that: Alice's confidence in my life sentence. Jasper's confidence in that confidence.

Worst of all: Esme's _joy_.

I stalked out of the room, ignoring all of their protests and various calls after me. I'd prove them all wrong. Rosalie wanted the girl to fall in love with a monster? Well, if it would prove that I hadn't lost my touch, I'd make it happen.

I practically flew to the girl's palace, where she was sleeping in her room. I was so caught up in my rage and indignation that I almost forgot to make myself invisible, but I remembered in time and saved myself the trouble of explaining to a frightened girl why a half-mad god was in her room so late at night.

I'd wanted to shoot her with the damn arrow outright, but at such close proximity to her heart, it would have killed her. I sighed, staring down at her peaceful form. Was what I was about to do any better than killing her? It might well have been worse. The spell Rosalie had wanted to put on her was so powerfully strong she would have been practically a slave to whatever beast I made her cherish.

I shook my head. No. What good was getting all sentimental and guilty? I still had to prove I didn't love this annoying woman-child.

But I couldn't make myself move. I couldn't bring myself to alter her in any way. Why should I? She was perfect as she was.

I groaned, falling to my knees beside her bed. When had my life gone so terribly wrong? Alice was right. She was always right. Why had I doubted her?

Why me, why now? _Damn it!_

I don't know how long I sat there and just watched the girl sleep, feeling insanely tired myself - but I knew sleep wouldn't have come to me that night. What was I supposed to do now? I couldn't not do anything, especially ignore Rosalie's commands. Rosalie didn't necessarily need me for anything, anyway. She could make this girl's life as miserable as she pleased on her own and I could do nothing to stop it.

I scoffed. Was that it, then? My first love, and I let it just die because of my own mother's jealousy?

Not in all the Hells. Something had awakened in me along with this new love. Some confidence, some feeling of power that didn't come from my control of love. I might not have as many abilities as the other gods, but Rosalie had even less. More than half of what the mortals worshiped her for were things _I_ did for her. If I stopped doing those things, the people would blame her... How her vanity and pride would suffer then.

Unable to resist, I stood and leaned forward to press my lips into the girl's ridiculously gorgeous hair. She mumbled incoherently in her sleep, her body turning over automatically, closer to mine. Up this close, I couldn't help noticing how absolutely intoxicating she smelled.

I cleared my throat as quietly as I could and stood up sharply. I couldn't afford such mistakes. The others could, because they were greater gods and mortals worshipped them despite what they did. I was the son of gods, not as powerful. But I would definitely make my mark.

Over the next month, no matter what Rosalie and the others said, I absolutely refused to shoot any arrows. No one fell in love. Animals stopped mating. The whole world suddenly seemed grim and old to the mortals.

In the beginning, Rosalie had tried to get back at me by placing a curse on Bella. She would never marry, instead she would be doomed to a life alone. At once, all the men who had sought the princess for so long stopped calling on her. They continued to openly admire her beauty and kindness, but none made a move to claim her.

It surprised me that Rosalie didn't see that that "curse" only worked in my favor. It protected Bella for me while I kept Rosalie off her.

And it worked. After a full month of not being praised, having her temples burned down, and being cursed by angry people who couldn't make themselves fall in love, Rosalie came to me with a deal: we both could ask each other for one thing. She asked that I resume my duties. I asked for Bella.

It took her a long time, but finally her desperation won out. She agreed to my terms, and I to hers. I set off to work immediately, shooting so many arrows I might have made a few mistakes and caused several same-gender couples to fall in love. Still, people were once again loving, animals were mating, and the world was going back to looking younger and happier.

And then I just had to set everything up for my new wife.


	3. Safe and Sound

_Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer and Greek/Roman mythology belongs to no one_

__**Thought I'd offer up a brief explanation of my gods (the ones mentioned so far) and how they differ from true mythology since, in interest of moving the story forward, I won't in the chapters:**

**Carlisle:** Equivalent of Zeus. King of all the gods. God of the sky, wielder of lightning. Married to Esme. Father of Rosalie, Jasper, and some other lesser gods who may or may not be mentioned later.

**Esme:** Equivalent of Hera. Queen of the gods. Patron of women and marriage. Married to Zeus. Mother of Rosalie, Jasper, and some other lesser gods who may or may not be mentioned later.

**Rosalie:** Equivalent to Aphrodite. Patron of love and beauty. Twin to Jasper. Married to Emmett. Mother of Edward and some lesser gods who may or may not be mentioned.

**Jasper:** Equivalent of Apollo. Twin to Rosalie. God of the sun, music, medicine, and civilization. Married to Alice. Father of some lesser gods who may or may not be mentioned.

**Alice:** Equivalent to Athena. Patron goddess of wisdom, warfare, intelligence, crafts, and architecture. Married to Jasper. Mother of some lesser gods who may or may not be mentioned later.

**Emmett:** Equivalent to Hercules. Famous for extreme strength and power, also well-known for his adventurous nature. Married to Aphrodite. Father of Edward and some lesser gods who may or may not be mentioned later.

**Edward:** Equivalent to Eros. Youngest of all the gods, and most beautiful/handsome male god. Patron of sex and love.

**Again, these are only the gods mentioned so far, and they are adapted for my story! The true Greek gods they equate to did not necessarily marry and such as my characters have. Google it if you don't know and want to learn :)**

* * *

_Just close your eyes, the sun is going down  
You'll be all right, no one can hurt you now_  
_Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound_

"Safe and Sound," Taylor Swift, ft. The Civil Wars

* * *

3. Safe and Sound

**Bella's POV**

Everything—time itself—had changed so quickly, it felt like I had literally been slapped by the whiplash. First I had been concerned that Father would make me marry someone I would never love, then I worried that Father would never let me marry at all, only to find out that it was a curse sent by the goddess Rosalie to prevent any many from coming forward to ask for my hand. And while never being forced to marry secretly thrilled me, it still hurt the pride to know that no one wanted you. Of course, the best of it all was that I was now to marry a monster. Was this a cruel joke thought up by the Fates before I was even born? I kill my mother, be all the more loved for it, and then marry some sort of demon?

_Isabella will never marry a mortal. She shall be given to one who waits for her on yonder mountain; he overcomes Gods and men._

What else could he be but a monster? 'Overcomes Gods and men'—it left nothing else. Unless my future husband was a hero, like Emmett, who had become so strong and famous that he married the goddess Rosalie and became immortal. But heroes like that just weren't born anymore, at least not that I had heard. Then again, I did live in one of the most remote places on the earth. It was quite possible that I had missed some tale or other of a new hero that was conquering lands right and left.

I sighed, shaking my head and trying to focus on my letters again. I still wasn't the best at writing, seeing as I had had to quit lessons in favor of tending to the wounded and children of the ambushed village. What was I doing, hoping for a hero instead of a monster? My Fate had been decided. I was being hateful and disrespectful for hoping for anything other than what had been preordained for me.

And besides, even if I did care to be disrespectful and hateful—what good would hoping do me? Father was convinced there was some way to avoid my Fate. His first 'genius' idea had been to lock me in my room. If I couldn't reach the mountain, he claimed, how could the monster come for me? I didn't need to explain to him that if my future husband wanted me badly enough, he had all the power backing him that he could need or desire. 'He overcomes Gods and men,' after all.

Now my tutors and governess and family came to visit me in my room—locking the doors after them, of course. The windows were shut, locked, curtained and draped within an inch of their lives. My rooms had become so dark that at night, even with candles, I could hardly see my hand though it hung an inch from my face.

When my sisters came in to talk with me, they often seemed quite satisfied at my recent imprisonment. I tried not to think it of them, but they really did seem pleased with my new situation, marrying a monster and all. When they spoke to me, it was always of my future life, any children I might have and what they would be like. Their voices were quite jarring with barely-suppressed glee at the mere ideas. Could they really have come to dislike me so much?

Governess came up with the next idea of my safety. I was to be always under guard and watch. I was never to be alone, not even for an instant. If I had to do something private, there was always someone just outside my door—so close I could practically hear them breathing. It was getting irritating fast.

I pressed the pen against the paper I had been laboring over so hard that it pushed a hole right through it. Wonderful. I would have to start over. Well, it was only what I deserved for thinking unkind thoughts to those who only wanted to protect me.

It seemed only I saw the futility of my situation. Didn't they know that if a God or immortal wanted something, nothing stood in their way? They might encumber the process, but in the end, it only depended on _what_ the immortals wanted and _how badly_ they wanted it.

I had only two prayers, two true hopes: that the monster would lose interest in me once he saw how willing my people were to protect me, or, that not being realized, that he would be kind to me, even if he did plan on killing me or fulfilling whatever monstrous desires he harbored with me afterward.

If he lost interest, or if he was truly kind to me, I could be quite happy with life. Who needed a real husband anyway? Most required more work than they were worth, or so I had heard. My sisters complained of theirs often enough, and especially about their babies. I thought my nieces and nephew were adorable - they were always so sweet and well-behaved—but if you'd asked their mothers, they could do nothing right.

How was that any way for a child to be brought up? Was that the norm for mothers? If I had children, would I be expected to treat mine that way?

_Would my multitude of questions ever be answered?_

"Bella," said a voice behind me, and a hand just brushed my shoulder. I jumped, spinning around in my chair so quickly that I fell to the floor. Lauren laughed at me. "Graceful as ever," she commented. "You didn't even hear me come in, did you?"

I shook my head as I got to my feet, closing my writing journal as I did so.

"You'd think you'd have sharpened your senses," Lauren scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Especially you, who has some monster panting after you."

"What good would it do?" I asked her rhetorically, repeating my desolate thoughts from earlier. "'He overcomes Gods and men,' after all."

"True." She didn't even try to give me a light at the end of my ever-growing tunnel. "Father wants you."

I blinked, surprised. "I can leave my room?"

"Yes, Bella, you can leave your room—you're a big girl now, after all," she said witheringly. She turned and strode away without a backward glance for me.

I stowed my notebook away and followed her as quickly as I was able, not wanting to be left behind and risk losing this new opportunity. It seemed like ages since I had been permitted out of my room.

Sue came up to me first when I had entered Father's study. She took my hands in her own and smiled kindly and maternally down at me.

"You're looking well today," she commented. "And so beautiful! It's as if staying in your room as only increased your physical charms."

I rolled my eyes, smiling. "I'm pale and thin—those are assets?"

"Of course, but at the moment, they are irrelevant," Father interrupted. He tried to sound stern, but I knew he was having some troubles with some emotion or other. There was something just behind his eyes that I couldn't quite read. Guilt? Sadness?

"Bella, we've decided that staying locked in your room is not protecting you," he finally said, getting straight to the point. I schooled my face sternly so that it wouldn't betray my feelings. However, I still wanted to scream, _Finally! You see how futile it is to go about resisting? Then let me go and spare yourselves the trouble! _"We have determined that you will be sent to my brother's castle. He has a better guard than I, and lives so far from here that I doubt your monster would chase you there."

"Father," I began, "you can't bypass what the Fates have decided just by—"

"Bella, do you _want_ to be wed to a monster?" Sue broke in, interrupting me completely. She usually called my, "Your Highness," or "Princess," but it was for show only. It seemed that in her angst she had forgotten to keep up the pretense.

I sighed. "Of course not. But do you really think that fate can be circumvented simply by moving away? It is my _destiny_. If anything, I'd bet that you're only pushing me closer towards it."

Father's lips tightened, a sure sign that he was seriously thinking over what I'd said. I decided to push my luck.

"I love you all dearly—I don't want to see you put in danger should this monster decide to get violent. And, as I said before, Fate cannot be avoided. So you're only causing my future husband to be in anger with me by evading him. If you only give me up quietly, without a fuss, perhaps I will still be given freedoms. I may still be able see you from time to time. I might have a better chance at happiness in a destiny that is unavoidable."

"But, Bella—"

"No, Governess," I interrupted. "There is no avoiding the inevitable. Are we agreed on that much?" Reluctantly, they nodded. "So why put yourselves in danger? Why risk my future? Just give in, Father. There's no use fighting. Let me go to the mountain. Spare yourself the trouble of fighting a losing battle."

Lauren shot me a sidelong glance. "It really does sound as though you _want_ this future for yourself."

I closed my eyes briefly, asking for patience from whatever deities were listening to me, and didn't even look at her. I kept my eyes trained on my father, whose countence was slowly collapsing into despair. I knew I had won this argument, though part of me, the more selfish part, wished I hadn't.

Father sighed, refusing to meet the furious eyes of Governess. "I think, perhaps, you may be right," he conceded. "I want to wait a little longer, though, just to see. The monster must know that we have heard of your fate through an oracle. If he grows angry that you do not come to meet him within a fortnight, we'll escort you to the mountain. However, if there are no signs of any anger or impatience from him, you stay. Are we agreed?"

It didn't sound like I would get anything better, so I nodded, albeit reluctantly. I still thought Father was only going to infuriate the monster by thwarting him, even for another fourteen days.

But those fourteen days passed rather quickly, all things considered.

And there was indeed a great show of anger from the heavens, and while I wasn't entirely certain it was _my_ monster causing such a fuss, Father's stipulation had been met. There were signs of tempestuousness, and now I must be taken to the mountain.

It was ridiculous, but most of the country accompanied us to the mountaintop, making a sort of parade out of it. Only, everyone was so morbid and depressed, it couldn't be given a gay term like 'parade.' It was more like a funeral procession. Tears, sobs, and white faces were all that really came with me, and all that really left an impression on me.

I was confident that I could handle whatever was coming for me. I was sure that it couldn't be too terrible. But all these dramatics were starting to scare me, I had to admit.

The oracle had said specifically that I must be _left_ on the mountain, meaning everyone must return to their homes. Not that there were many objections to that rule. The idea of meeting the monster seemed to terrify them all, more so than even me.

Father and Governess hadn't wanted to leave me, and they put up a big fuss over it, but eventually my sisters and I convinced them they had to leave. And then there was the issue of what to leave _with_ me. Governess was afraid that the monster might not come for me today, or even tonight, but wait for a bit as punishment or just because he was busy with his monster tasks. What would I do when the night grew bitterly cold up on the mountain?

But I was sure my future husband wouldn't make me wait, and so I finally bade them goodbye, and they left nothing with me but the clothes on my back.

In the deafening silence after they were gone, I began to feel afraid again. What if my future husband _didn't_ come tonight? What if I had been left up here, to wait for him for days, as punishment for making _him_ wait? It was already growing colder and my body shivered involuntarily under my clothes, though they were designed to deal with cold weather.

And the cold wasn't the only thing that soon began to trouble me. With the wind howling about the mountainside, shaking trees and whistling through rocky, icy crags, I had never felt more alone. Usually, I liked being outside by myself. It gave me time to think, and just be myself. But this was a whole other story. I wasn't in seclusion by choice.

I wrapped my arms tightly around myself, shivering again. I could only hope my husband would come soon.

* * *

What felt like the same instant, my eyes snapped open. I groaned, looking around. The sun was lowering in the sky, growing closer to sunset, and just in front me sprawled a dense, beautiful forest. It felt like I had only slept for a minute, most likely less, but it seemed I had truly been sleeping for hours.

And now where was I? What had brought me here, wherever I was? I knew I didn't sleepwalk, so I didn't come here myself.

Whatever the case was, I found myself to be in an ecstatic mood. It was a forest! A real, green, _alive_ forest! Growing up in the Winterland, I had only seen pretty birch-tree forests, from which the leaves and bark had long since been stripped. This was beautiful. So many flowers, so much lush, green grass...

I stood, shedding my thick coats down to my simple tunic. The weather was lovely and warm. As I draped them over my arm, I walked into the woods, eager for the protection it offered me from the bright, hot sun. It was even more breathtaking once I was under the shelter of the trees. The sunlight cast down through the canopy and turned the light into a muted, sparkling golden color, that seemed to dance around me in selected spotlights.

And the _wildlife_! I heard noises from more creatures than I'd ever heard in my life in that one instant. Then, under the sounds of the woodland creatures, I heard the sound of running water, and promptly realized that I was, quite literally, parched. How long had it been since I'd had a drink?

I tried to tune out the sounds of the wildlife and follow the sounds of the babbling water, but it proved more difficult than I would have thought. At first, I found I had gone in the completely wrong direction. Then, I found I had gone past the water source without seeing it. Finally, after about another quarter-hour with no results, I found it.

And was completely, utterly, and totally stunned.

Standing before me was a beautiful garden, the likes of which I had never seen. Covered in brightly colored flowers, there was a large pond nestled up against a slight hill from which fell a miniature, beautiful waterfall. The vision was completed by what had to have been the oldest weeping willow tree in the world. The lawn—which I still couldn't used to, as menial as it may have been— was a lush green, and there were large boulders, presumably from the mountains still surrounding us, scattered throughout.

Altogether, it was the single most beautiful, natural place I had ever laid eyes on.

But the palace behind the garden took my breath away. Made from the palest stones, it stood two levels high, with a few guard towers above that, and gorgeous, colorful trees and flowers everywhere.

I wondered vaguely who could live so alone and isolated way out here, but my thoughts were cut off by a sudden, disembodied voice. It was motherly and reminiscent of Governess, but far too young, and still too formal and distant to make a strong connection with my nursemaid.

"Your Highness, I bear a message from your husband. He bids me to tell you that this palace is yours, that the servants living in it are to do whatever you ask of them, and that he will see you after the sun has set."

I blinked, confused. "Who speaks?" I asked tremulously.

"I am your housekeeper, my lady," said the voice. "My name is Angela. Orders from your lord husband. You are not permitted to see us yet."

"Not permitted to _see_ you?" I repeated blankly. "What kind of order is that, Housekeeper? Why would he demand such a thing?"

"You will learn in time," the voice replied sagely. "Would my lady prefer a bath her to break her fast first?"

It took but moments before my confusion and slight panic gave way to overwhelming curiosity and delight. Over the next several hours, I spent every minute exploring my new home, absolutely thrilled with all the things I could do. The garden was mine, and I could tend it and do what I liked. Everything was subject to how I wanted it, and the house had already been made exactly to my taste. It was like my dream home.

That night, as the palace and surrounding woods grew dark, it seemed all the servants had better things to do than spend their time with me. In what felt like a mere instant, they were all gone, presumably down to their servants' quarters.

I stayed up in the bedroom Angela had told me was meant for me. It was a beautiful room, all light and airy, everything an off-white, almost cream color with an enormous soft bed that I found myself running and jumping on almost as soon as the door shut behind me. I hadn't been so childish since I _had _been a child, so I supposed I was acting a little too excited, all squealing and giggling as I jumped all over the mattress.

"I take it you are pleased with these accommodations?"

I froze, my eyes automatically searching for the speaker, but landing on no one. Why must everyone in my household mask themselves from me?

"I'm sorry," the voice said, seeming to realize my alarm, "I suppose I should have alerted you to my presence much sooner."

The voice seemed so kind and amused and tender all at once, that I couldn't help but feel hopeful that this was supposed to be my husband.

"Are you...?" I started to ask, but gave up when I began floundering for the right words.

"My name is Edward," the voice said simply, but I could hear a smile in it.

"And are you the one that brought me here?" I asked hesitantly, hurrying into a more proper sitting position, my legs hanging off the side of the bed under my now-crumpled dress.

"Well, technically, the one who brought you here was Zephyr, my friend—but, yes, you are here because I wanted you to be."

Grateful that he was willing to supply me with answers, I continued my barrage of questions almost without hesitation.

"So... _you _are my husband, then?"

Again, the voice seemed amused. "Well, yes, but I don't see any reason why we have to go so far tonight. I'd rather just talk with you, if you don't mind."

I breathed a sigh of relief, thanking the gods for such an understanding husband. But not being able to see him was starting to confuse and frustrate me.

"Where are you?" I asked, looking around the room again.

"Sitting in your parlor. Where else would a guest be seated?"

I peered out through the open door, from which I had an entire view of the my parlor room, but I still saw no man, beast, or other. Nothing but my furniture.

"Then... Then why can't I see you?" It was embarrassing how much my voice shook. "Why have you made yourself and everyone else invisible to me?"

The voice—Edward sighed now, and seemed... regretful? Reluctant? In my confusion, I couldn't think of the proper word to describe his sudden shift in tone, but those two came the most readily to mind.

"Unfortunately, you can never see me," he admitted. "At least, not for a long while off, anyway. The staff will become visible at the same time."

"May I ask why?"

He hesitated before responding, "Because I don't want your opinion of me influenced by who I am or what you see of me and our servants."

While the sentiment of that statement went right to my heart, making it feel rather light, I was now more frightened than ever. What if this really was a monster?

I shook my head, banishing all such thoughts. He was obviously trying to win my favor the traditional way, even if we weren't such a traditional pair, and I admired him for that. Certainly someone so... hopeful could get something as little as the benefit of the doubt from me.

"I understand," I finally agreed. I decided to change the subject, and smiled slightly. "Why don't you come in here so I don't have to raise my voice?"

"I could hear you just fine if you didn't, but I'll accept the invitation." Again, the amusement. I was beginning to think it was at my expense.

"Are you laughing at me, sir?" I teased, but even while my voice was light and airy, my eyes were darting around my bedroom, almost frightened, wondering where he'd taken refuge the second time.

"I wouldn't dream of it, my lady," he returned in the same pompous tone I'd subjected him to. I couldn't help a small laugh from escaping me. It wasn't often someone played so innocently with me like this, like we were almost children. My sisters always thought it was stupid, and the other court children were all truly too pompous to get the point of it.

"Where are you now?" I asked, peering into the darkness. I vaguely wondered if I would have been able to see him, even if he weren't invisible, my room was so dark without candles.

The foot of my bed, a good foot or so away from me, sank a little with the added weight of a body. "Here," he answered calmly.

I held out my hand to feel for him, but then withdrew it like I had been burned. If he didn't want to be seen, why on earth would he want to be touched? But still...

I held out my hand again, my voice coming out far more nervous than I'd intended as I asked, "May... May I...?"

Thankfully, sensing my sudden difficulty with words, his hand took mine. It was an odd sensation, to be able to _feel _something but not see it. I supposed that was how the blind felt their entire lives.

And I was certain that it was a hand, not a paw or whatever monsters may have. It was larger than mine, much larger, and coarser, but a hand nonetheless.

Edward let me run my fingertips over his hand and arm, knowing I needed to be reassured that he was, at least in body, human. He was incredibly muscular, from what I could tell of his arm and upper chest, much more so than most of the men I had grown up around. I intentionally shied away from his face, though, unsure if he would be willing to let me explore that part of him just yet.

I released him, drawing back into my former sitting position, muttering a small, "Thank you."

He understood, and, seeming to want to loosen the tense atmosphere, teased, "Do I pass the test?"

I smiled, somewhat apologetically. "Forgive me, I was unsure what exactly you are. When Governess came back from Greece with the Oracle's prophecy, she said that you were someone who 'overcame gods and men.' I thought that meant it exluded the two categories, making you some kind of monster."

"It's perfectly fine," he assured me, and the bed rocked a little as he shifted to get more comfortable. I felt him hesitate. "Are you tired?"

I shook my head. "Not at all."

"Excellent. I didn't want to say goodnight to you just yet."

"Me, neither. I only have a few thousand more questions for you."

I heard a smile in his voice again as he offered, "Ask away."

"Well... All right, am I allowed to ask you about your family, or past?"

I heard him take in a small breath and then exhale heavily, not quite a sigh. "You may ask, but I don't know that I'll be able to answer them all. I promise to answer what I can, though."

"You wouldn't be able to answer some because of the same reason?" I prodded. "It influencing my opinion of you?"

"You got it."

I shrugged. "Not a problem. Can't hurt to try, though, right? So, are your parents still alive?"

"Very much so. I can't tell you their names, but... Well, I suppose I can tell you a little about them. My mother is incredibly vain and selfish, and easily offended. I honestly don't know how my father puts up with her, other than perhaps her beauty. But then, I know he loves her despite—or perhaps because of—all her quirks; he treats her like a pet, as if her actions are harmless and meant as entertainment."

"You almost sound like you don't like them," I pressed.

He shifted, and the weight on my bed was centered in two places now, indicating that he was resting on his arms or something. "No, I love them all well enough. My mother is difficult to deal with most times. I stopped calling her 'mother' when I was small, partly because she had never really seemed like a mother to me. She was always like... the selfish older sister, you know?"

I laughed. "I have two of those, Jessica and Lauren. I can't imagine two more egocentric people." I sobered up and continued my researching. "So, if your mother never really raised you, who did? Your father?"

"No. He's been my best friend my whole life, but not really a father figure. The ones who really brought me up were my grandparents, my mother's parents. I couldn't have asked for two more loving, nurturing people to be my pseudo-parents."

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"Yes, but... they've all grown and gone. But I do have several cousins, and cousins-in-law, and aunts and uncles. Large extended family, I guess. We're all pretty close-knit."

I sensed something more behind his hesitation about his siblings, but I smiled and ignored my suspicions. "Despite how you make your mother seem, it sounds like you're incredibly lucky."

That smile was back in his voice, and I imagined it must have been beautiful, to enhance an already-dreamy voice to such a degree.

"I know I am." He hesitated. "May I ask you some questions?"

"Of course."

"Well, to be blunt, I already know that you have a father and two sisters, but what happened to your mother?"

"She died giving birth to me," I answered easily.

Instantly, he was backpedaling. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

"It's fine. Obviously, I never knew her. People around our palace used to say I'm just like her, not only in looks, but in mind and soul. I kind of hope that's true. It would make me feel... I don't know, less guilty."

"You blame yourself for her death?"

"How could I not? She wouldn't have died if she hadn't been so intent on saving me. If she hadn't forced the doctors into saving me first, she would still be here."

"That was her choice, not yours," he pointed out. "Besides, if she hadn't chosen so, _you_ may not be alive."

"So?"

The single word hung in the still air for a few moments, drifting between us as it floated on a rather tense silence.

"You're surprising me," he admitted after a few more minutes. "I knew you were selfless, but this takes it a bit too far. It's almost like you have no self-worth at all."

"Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?" I asked, biting my lip self-consciously.

"Well, I find it incredibly endearing to be selfless, but to the degree of not caring if you died—" He broke off, sighing. "You're making me feel more than a little inferior right now. You talk of dying if it means bringing your mother back, while all I can think is that I'm almost glad she's gone, if it means that I can have you."

I glanced down at the bed, blushing. No one had ever said something like that to me before. While I knew I should be offended or affronted that he thought so little of my mother's sacrifice, I couldn't help but feel flattered that he placed so much value in me.

But my pampered life as a princess and the late hour caught up with me, and I yawned involuntarily.

He chuckled. "I'll leave and let you get some rest."

"No!" I protested, too quickly and too exuberantly. Blush deepening, I clarified, "I mean, I was enjoying talking to you. I don't usually get to just talk to someone. At least, not without trying to figure out their agenda."

"Don't worry," he assured me, his weight leaving the second place as he sat up. "I live here, too. At night, anyway. You'll see me again tomorrow, after the sun sets."

"Where do you go during the day?"

"I have to work, too," he laughed at me indulgently. "Did you think I was just a spoiled nobleman's son, accustomed to doing nothing and getting whatever I want with a snap of my fingers?"

"No, you don't strike me as that kind of person at all."

"Thank you. Nevertheless, I have to work all day, everyday, I'm afraid."

He stood, his weight leaving the bed altogether. I held out my hand, blindly searching for him, and he wrapped his own large hand around mine. Using it as an anchor, my hands found their way to his face, and I stretched up on my toes—he was much taller than I would have guessed—to kiss his cheek.

I knew that he could feel how badly I was blushing from our proximity, and most likely his own eyes, but I had to show some form of my deep appreciation for what he had done for me tonight.

"Thank you," I said fervently.

"For what?" he asked, his voice lower now, and strangely rougher.

"Well, everything really, but mostly for tonight," I explained. "Just talking and listening. Knowing that, even if we're married, I wasn't ready for a physical connection with someone. You have no idea how much that means to me."

"Well, then, you're welcome. I only want to make you happy, of course."

I smiled, kissed him again that time on the hand I held, and backed away a pace, letting my hands fall to my sides. "You have. I don't know why, especially considering I have yet to lay eyes on your or anyone else since leaving my home, but... I feel very safe here with you."

He laughed again, and, while I committed the beautiful sound of it to memory, he ruffled my hair playfully and was gone.

Despite the complete chaos of the day and my homesickness, my dreams that night were filled with hope, and a growing affection and trust for the man I now called husband.


End file.
